


Omegad!

by Attic_Nights



Series: Kisses Collected Across the Alternate 'verses [1]
Category: Psych
Genre: A worrying lack of pineapples, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Fake Science, First Kiss, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Verse, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attic_Nights/pseuds/Attic_Nights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn is a beta, Lassiter is an alpha. Lassiter only goes after alphas and betas—problem is, Shawn's really neither.</p><p>Or, two men try to subvert societal mores and accidentally fall prey to instinct instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omegad!

**Author's Note:**

> Omega!Verse. ([Also known as the trope that doesn’t make sense ](/works/403644)). You have been warned.
> 
> This is the first of many AU fics to be collected here. They all explore Shawn and Lassiter's first kisses within a clichéd environment, but are separate, stand-alone tales. 
> 
> On a side note, while this has been tagged as _dubious consent_ , this relates to the nature of the a/b/o dynamic, which as a universe is a Gordian knot of ethical, moral and sexual implications, some of which are mentioned within the fic. Be assured that all parties within this text are, however, consenting adults (though a little thick at times).
> 
> And finally, a big shout-out to Moondragon23's fantabulous beta work. Any remaining errors are my own.

Most people underestimate Shawn. They look at his lackadaisical smile, his coiffed hair, his casual clothes, and dismiss him. For the image he projects is neither submissive nor dominant; those closer to him would sigh and explain that he’s more stubborn than anything. People come and go, ephemeral as his whims. After all, he’s only a beta in a world of alphas and omegas.

The surface of his person is filled with so _much_ that no one ever really looks under and sees the real Shawn Spencer. And, as an omega in hiding, he rather likes it that way.

Hiding is a complex task that Shawn tackles with aplomb. He has pharmaceutical contacts all over the globe—including his best friend Gus. He uses specially scented soaps, which he hides in generic soap dispensers. He takes heat suppressants, hormone pills, pheromones, and several other things that Gus is not officially allowed to prescribe. Shawn never wanted to be an omega—no one really does, not really. So, in his stubborn way, he never became one, at least to society. And he was happy.

The first time he saw Lassiter he was amused. An alpha sleeping with a beta was controversial at best—it was no wonder Lucinda was transferred when the affair was revealed. A _voluntary reinstatement_ was the official line. Yeah right. But Shawn admired the alpha’s choice, reminiscent of a sort of ‘fuck you’ to society not unlike his own. And yet, as an omega, being around an alpha was certain to be a dangerous dance.

Shawn felt up to the challenge.

The first time he smelled Lassiter—really scented him—was a few days later, body pressed close as the detective tried to manhandle him into the paddy wagon. For a brief moment, Shawn felt like panicking; the man was so close, actually lifting him, what if he discovered what he was? Not only was he close, but he was being dominant, and for the first time Shawn recognized the appeal. But drawing his shields around him, Shawn plowed on and got his first collar to confess.

It had been a heady thrill.

The first time Shawn smelled Lassiter’s arousal was also the first time the detective truly surprised him. In that moment, he was sitting in the man’s lap, having completed his ‘dazzle and stretch’ routine, when the heat in the room spiked.

Shawn had frozen in horror, along with Gus (super sniffer, _hello),_ a thousand ugly situations running through his head. And none of them happened.

“Spencer? Get off my lap,” the man had said. And then Lassiter had simply waited with a control uncommon of his kind, until the fake psychic got off.

It wasn’t the last time, either. Shawn made sure of that.

If you asked him, like Gus did on occasion, why he acted around the detective like that, Shawn would laugh and deny it. Flirting, teasing, and then pulling back. Each time was exhilarating, the fear of being caught combining with the rush of besting an alpha. It was internal reassurance that he was strong, his own person—and not just on the surface.

Sure, Lassie had been attracted to betas, and had even married another alpha (Shawn was seriously impressed by that last one). And sure, it wasn’t fair the way he flaunted himself then ran off to Jules or some other beta. But it sure beat the alternative.

And yet, like all good things, something had to go wrong. This time, it was him going into heat.

The morning of that day dawned with a sense of dread. He felt sticky, clammy and wanting. And, eurgh, his sheets were soaked by some sort of discharge. _Gross._ He called Gus.

“Buddy?” he croaked out, throat dry.

“Shawn? Did I not tell you to not call me while I’m at my sister’s?” _Shit._

“Uh Houston, we have a problem.”

Pause. “You’ve finally gone into heat, haven’t you?”

“Is the super sniffer THAT good?”

“Oh my god you have! I warned you about this! It’s been twelve years! Your cycle was getting out of sync—“

Shawn tuned out as Gus went into science and the need for omegas to have heat and blah blah blah.

“It’ll be fine, Gus. You just get something delivered and we’ll be back to normal.”

The silence on the line was worrying. “Shawn, you’re in heat. There’s no magic pill—you have your heat and then you can go back to taking suppressants.”

Shawn laughed. “Good one. Now, just go and get me a solution.”

But he already knew the answer, and it was a resounding no.

By the time he hung up, Shawn was shaking. Three days, he could last three days. He’d just shower and jack off all the time. It’d be just like being a teenager again. Minus the Val Kilmer and Heather Locklear posters above his bed. Pasting on a smile, he made a note to Netflix _Kiss Kiss Bang Bang_ , and showered.

Thirty-eight hours later, Shawn was exhausted. He hadn’t slept, barely eaten, and every time his sweatpants brushed against his hypersensitive skin he wanted to scream in frustration. He was hot and bare-chested; he was sore and had an unstoppable case of the hornies. He was still grumbling to himself, towel drying his hair for the fourth time that day, when someone knocked at the door.

“Police!” cried a familiar voice. “Open up!”

Shawn froze, caught between wanting to hide from the intoxicating alpha scent, and taking his chances to open the door and send Lassie away. He didn’t even allow himself to consider a third option. Lassie didn’t even _want_ him in that way. Now, if he hid, Lassiter would likely break down his door. Or shoot it, or even him—that was an option too. Don’t consider the _fourth_ option, then.

He walked over to the door, cursing the fresh slick dripping down his thighs. “Lassie? Uh, not a good time buddy.”

“Spencer?” Lassie responded, muffled, sounding surprised. “Look, I don’t care if you’ve got a floozy in there; I need you to open the door.”

With a growing sense of dread, Shawn undid the latch and scuttled back onto the couch, pulling a cushion to his bare chest. Lassiter strode in, an air filter around his mouth. Shawn breathed, relaxing.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” he asked, falling back on an easy smile.

“Somebody rang in about a distressed omega and we’re evacuating all the occupants of the building until we find it. That includes you.”

Distressed was code word for an omega in heat who was actively pining for an alpha. Historically, alphas would track the beaconing scent and then it was first come, first serve, or in some cultures, a battle to the death between alpha rivals. Now, the omega was whisked off to a safe place where they could, once over their heat, choose their own mate. As far as he knew, he was the only unmated omega in the neighborhood. Distressed? Him? Was he really that far gone that he didn’t realize he was projecting for a mate?

Lassiter walked over to him, and Shawn jumped belatedly, clutching the pillow tighter. Lassie rolled his eyes.

“Where is she? Go on, tell whatever two-bit beta you’ve got here to get dressed and—” And Lassiter, thinking he was safe, did the unthinkable and pulled off his air filter so he could talk with greater ease. The detective immediately froze and Shawn watched in slow motion as the man scented the air, pupils dilating.

“Spencer, why do you smell like an omega?”

Shawn wished the couch would swallow him up. He straightened, ignoring his instincts that told him to bend over and beg to be taken. Ignored how perfect the detective smelled—ignored how he _always_ knew how utterly right he smelled. How the man felt, how he looked, sounded and how he’d always wondered what he’d taste like. He was aware for the first time how hollow he was inside.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he stated, voice sounding sterner than he felt.

Lassiter looked like he was going to argue, when something like respect flashed over his features. “I knew you were a fake, but this?” Shawn steeled himself for a lecture. “This is _astounding.”_

“Really?” he asked, feeling hope bloom in his chest. It was somewhat tempered by a fresh flood of slick slipping out, drenching his pants, and possibly the couch.

“Really. I—uhm, hmm,” the lanky man stepped back quickly and repositioned his air filter. Shawn blushed, embarrassed. “I do this, you owe me big time, Spencer.”

Shawn frowned, watching the man reach for his radio.

“O’Hara?” Lassiter’s voice sounded strangled. “Call it off. It’s a false alarm—someone simply spilt an industrial container of omega pheromone. Yeah, courier of some sort. What? Of course I’m fine. Just, ah, wrap things up on your end and I’ll see you in the morning.” He hung up.

Shawn snapped his eyes away from the erection tenting Lassie’s suit pants, and gave him a smile. “Thanks Lassiekins.”

“I’m not just doing this for you. I’m doing it for Guster.”

“Gus?” he asked, confused.

“It’s obvious. You’re pining for him, not distressed. He’s your mate, isn’t he? And look at you, gone into heat while he’s out of town.” Lassiter, always in control, turned away, looking nervous.

“Uh, Lassie? Gus is a beta,” he said slowly.

Lassie looked back, frustration coloring his features. “So? I won’t judge—I _married_ an alpha.”

Don’t say anything, just get him to leave. “He’s not my mate.” Sugar Honey Ice Tea with shitake mushrooms; couldn’t he just use his brain-to-mouth filter for once and _shut up_? “I don’t even have a mate.”

Lassiter’s hand froze on the doorknob, about to leave. _Fuck._ Slowly, the man turned around, eyes black and expression stony.

“What?”

Shawn gulped. “I don’t have a mate?”

The alpha’s eyes narrowed, and he walked slowly back to Shawn.

“Why would you even say that to me?” he growled, control finally slipping. “You just as good as bent over and spread your cheeks. Always with the teasing, the flirting. The sneaking into my home and eating my goddamn peanut butter.  I’m an alpha, Spencer. Do you want me to take you? ‘Cause I don’t see any other alphas around here.” He ripped off his air filter and seemed to sway for a split second. “Or are you just so desperate for something meaningful that you’d take any old cock as a mate. I—oh _fuck it_!”

Lassiter pounced, pinning Shawn down. Shawn shuddered as he was scented, a dark head nuzzling into his neck. He gasped as a wet tongue licked a stripe from shoulder to ear, a growled ‘mine’ echoing around Shawn’s head. The mouth nipped and suckled its way down to his nipples, biting and teasing the sensitive nubs. His hips bucked up on their own accord, bringing his erect length in contact with Lassiter’s. Lassie growled, pure animal, then got up. Shawn was about to complain when strong hands flipped him onto his stomach and tugged off his sweatpants.

“Lassie!” he cried, hearing a fly unzip.

A heady scent that was pure Lassie washed over him. Strong hands kneaded his buttocks, slapped them once, twice, and then a still-clothed Lassiter straddled his own naked body. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” whispered Lassiter, breath quick and hot on his cheek. Shawn spared a moment to be amazed—all he’d read on alphas said that once in heat-lust they turned into nothing more than animals, devoid of coherent thought. He realized then that Lassie was a man who always surprised him, and would continue to surprise him.

“Please,” Shawn babbled, brain making a quick sojourn to his dick.

Shawn’s heart thudded to a stop in the too-long silence. Eventually, Lassie spoke and the world moved again.

“You’ve no idea how long I…” Lassiter bit hard on the juncture of his neck, then nuzzled him, close. “Christ, if you could _smell_ yourself. I need to—“

Shawn needed too. “I want you.”

That seemed to ignite something in Lassie, as the man gripped Shawn tight, body shuddering. A hard cock slotted between his thighs, sliding through the slick there. Shawn whimpered, flushing.

“Oh Santa Claus up a chimney with Bert and Ernie! Please, Lassie. I need you so badly.”

To his surprise, Lassiter tightened his hold on Shawn’s hips, grip bruising. “Don’t ever put on an act for me, Spencer,” he snarled. “I see through your bullshit.”

Shawn felt himself go boneless, head buzzing, and submitted. Then with a moan, Lassiter’s hand positioned himself at Shawn’s entrance. Shawn cried out as he was breached, bucking up until the man slid home. Lassiter hissed in response, cock seeming to thicken impossibly inside his hungry channel. He started slow, savoring the long thrusts, but before long he set up a swift, earth-shattering pace.

Shawn rubbed himself against the couch. Suddenly his hips were lifted and rearranged, and a calloused hand worked his leaking erection. He felt something like homecoming, whole and complete, and let out a disbelieving cry as he came. Lassiter growled, thrust in once, twice, and then slammed deep inside, knotting him. The knot felt huge, and Shawn couldn’t help releasing a sob as the cock pulsed. Lassiter’s cum rushed inside like a geyser, filling him with seed.

* * *

“Spencer.” Lassiter pulled out sharply, and then reentered. “What. You. Do. To. Me,” he growled, punctuating each word with a thrust.

Shawn moaned. “Tell me. All the things I do to you.”

“You infuriate me.”

He let out a cry as Lassie punched into his prostate.

“You sit on my lap, crowd into my space. You liked that, didn’t you? I had no idea.”

 _“Hmm_ I’m a Space Invader. You nev—” mumbled Shawn, but Lassie interrupted, cutting him off.

“You solve _my_ cases, dance—” he twisted sharply, and Shawn shuddered, grinding himself into Lassie’s stomach, “—prance and fuck with me all. Day. Long.”

_Mmmmpf._

“And you lie. Talk to me like I’m nothing.”

“You’re—OH! Not nothing. Not nothing. M’—Every— _gnnng_.”

“No…” He paused mid-thrust, and Shawn writhed, begging. “But when you insult my hair… suit… ethics… I like that you notice. Notice _me._ Like I’m someone to you.”

Shawn replied by taking Lassiter’s left hand within his own, fingers interlocking. Lassiter looked at him searchingly for a few moments, and then fell flush onto Shawn’s chest, stubble nuzzling the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

* * *

Lassiter was tiring, Shawn could tell, his blue eyes shuttered against the bedside lamp. They were separate again, but loose arms linked them together in the ways it counted. Shawn looked at him serenely, pushing down the clawing tendrils of animalistic lust. He tracked over the planes of the detective’s face, cataloging each pore, grain of stubble, and smooth swell of flesh. His heat flared up again, hazing his vision slightly as his body soared and palpitated.

He heard Lassie moan helplessly, and grinned.

“Shh…” he breathed into the cool shell of Lassie’s ear. “I’ll take care of you.” He pushed Lassie onto his back, straddling his thighs. Under the ministrations of Shawn’s hands, Lassies cock filled slowly to full capacity. Pre-cum pooled at the head and he lapped at the bitter liquid. Long fingers combed through his hair and he pulled off, turning his head into the caress. His breath hitched as hands caught his stubbled jaw and pulled him gently towards hooded cerulean eyes. Pink lips parted slowly, bare inches away, and he cupped Lassie’s cheek, halting the movement.

“You like that, don’t you? Someone to take care of you?” asked Shawn.

A small nod.

Then, Lassiter moaned, head thrown back as Shawn seated himself with a single stroke.

“When we’re done here, when I’m out of this sweating—” he ran a hand through Lassie’s damp hair, pulling his head back to reveal the long lines of his neck, “—soma drug there’s-something-about-lassie heat. I could top. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Look at you, tired Lassie. We could use your gun holster. The strong black leather one, contrasting so fantabulously to your white skin,” he dragged his free hand over the gasping man’s chest, painting where the holster would be, “like cookies n' cream.

“I bet I could take you from behind. You, presented to me, like a tasty, pale present. I might even blindfold you.” Lassiter moaned, deep and loud. Shawn grinned, grinding down slowly. “Remember last time I blindfolded you—with your tie? It was blue, not as lovely as your eyes, but so soft, Lassie. You didn’t flinch or move away, just a _teensy_ verbal protest. Because you trust people. No… because you trust _me._ You just stood there n’ let me, not even resisting.

"And when I’ve you in the holster, dark leather against bare vanilla skin, I’d grab the leather like a swing and you wouldn’t have to do a thing. Just let me…” And he pulled Lassie’s hands together, pinning them above his head. “Rock.” He seated himself. “Into.” Ground down hard, feeling the knot expand and catch. “You.”

Lassiter came hard, gasping with the force of it and took Shawn with him. Shawn laid there, full and connected, and dozed.

* * *

An indefinite time later, Shawn woke up as the little spoon, albeit a backwards, clinging little spoon, cuddled by a warm and fuzzy detective. His heat was over, the cloying, sticky smell of it stale in the air. He wriggled into his alpha, wincing slightly at the cock still knotted inside him from their third, fourth, or possibly even tenth round. He looked at Lassiter’s rosy pink lips, untouched and just out of reach, as they had been all night.

“Morning, loverrr,” he sing-songed, then blew in Lassiter’s ear. The man jerked awake, startled. Shawn smiled softly as the air was scented and a hundred emotions flickered across a usually taciturn face.

“Spencer. Spencer? I—oh god I’m sorry. What I did was irredeemable. We all have choices and mine shouldn’t have been to take yours away.” Lassie gulped and stared at a spot over his shoulder. “I won’t fight the charges; just give me some time to resign first.”

Shawn felt drunk and flushed. “Lassie, don’t be an idiot.”    

Lassie bristled. “Idiot? I’m not the one who admitted they were calling for a mate while there was an alpha still in the room.”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“Oh?” Lassiter snarled, trying desperately to wrench his hips away from where he was still locked inside Shawn. With a noise of protest, Shawn reached down and swiftly gave the older man a warning slap on his thigh. Lassiter stopped and glared at him. Shawn stared back.

“I would phrase it as I was calling for a mate who is now in the room. Honestly Lassie, be logical.”

Lassiter paused. “Wait. You wanted… want _me?”_   He sounded incredulous. “You’re not just saying that now because I’m amazing at sex? Look into my eyes and answer me honestly: are you sure you’re not still in heat?”

“Stop complaining dear, and just kiss me already.”

“Yes sir,” Lassiter growled and swooped down, capturing Shawn’s lips.

Lassiter tasted perfect.


End file.
